En Avant
by ariadne-chan
Summary: i. dance 'Sometimes he would sing to her. He had a mediocre voice, really, but he would sing with such exuberance that it made him wonderful.' A series of drabbles and short stories set to different pairings.
1. dance

_i. dance_

He was always a dancer. Haruhi could, should she choose to do so, call out a dance step, and he could stop whatever he was doing, execute it perfectly, then go back to what it was he was doing. Playing the piano, doing something absolutely stupid, fox trot, indulge himself into yet another stupidity, like wailing, or moping, move forward dramatically with a waltz, plan on yet another exotic cosplay for the club, fret about his "daughter's frigidity"—all the stupid stuff. He had regaled himself as King, yes, but there were moments when he liked sulking on corners, too. And receiving fatal blows to the head—he never seemed to mind.

Tamaki-senpai's was a soul of music, steeped in it. He could tap out perfect rhythm, could memorize a song could write one, could compose harmonies on the spot. He could hum a melody to accompany the tapping of her feet, and it would always be she who broke it, stumbling over a bump, or just trying to avoid the self-consciousness of it all.

Sometimes he would sing to her. He had a mediocre voice, really, but he would sing with such exuberance that it made him wonderful. When they were alone, whether he was dressing for another cosplay, or puttering about the Host Club grand hall, he'd sing her something jazzy, break off what he was doing to grab her hands and swing her into a one-two step and implore her to sing along. Normally, she laughed him off, pulled away, but every once in a while, after a great deal of badgering, she'd let out a few hesitant notes. He'd laugh, amazed, delighted. She'd stop, and shake her head when he insisted she continue.

She stopped because she was embarrassed, yes, but also because he always stopped when she sang, and she liked to hear him. He had a comforting voice a warm voice. It enfolded itself around her. Some days, she would like nothing more than to sit on the window-seat, indulging herself with the twins' hoard of instant coffee and watching the rainfall, wrapped to her nose in his voice.


	2. exhalation

_ii. exhalation  
_

She smelled to him like the spring, though it wasn't exactly a smell, and it wasn't exactly the spring, so. It was hard thing to define. But in the late winter, the early spring, the air gained a certain quality, a certain restlessness—a freshness, a beckoning, like white curtains fluttering over a window to an airy room, the linen whispering _'Come hither, come hither.' _It was like paper tumbling from a table, fluttering to the ground; it was like the feel of distant salt from the imagined ocean she'd only ever known through his descriptions. It was like the sigh of trees for hours, for eternity, leaves rubbing together to moan, _Come hither._

And she smelled of it, felt of it, tasted of it, this sensation that was nor scent nor feeling nor taste. It was as though she exhaled it from every pore, this restlessness, this late-winter-early-spring desire, a supine goddess of unconscious sensuality.

It was like the air before a lightning strike. He knew she secretly feared it, but he could not help but to compare—it was like she tore the very molecules apart, leaving the burn-sweet scent of ozone. Beneath her skin stretched and slack lay a sea of ions, roiling with potential. If he delved inside her, perhaps, he would find nothing but promise, but he'd be forever charged and forever marked by what he drew from her and she from him.

It hurt to be away from her, sometimes, just as it hurt when that scent, borne by wind, faded as spring progressed. And spring always progressed, and never lived up to those few first days. Tamaki (and the twins) would kill him for even considering it, but Kyouya would take the scent of potential before the scent of flowers.

**bwehehe. this one ended up a bit, y'know, less innocent than i had first intended, but meh. i have to justify that pg rating somewhere, eh? hekhek. random thoughts.**


End file.
